


With steady steps

by LadyKG



Category: Bleach
Genre: (don't actually... i'm a poor college student), Accidental Time Travel, Aizen teaches ichigo because I really really wanted to see that happen, Aizen will live, Fix-It, I have no idea where this is going, Ichigo goes back in time, Ichigo has both his blades in this, M/M, Quincy war is not even a thing because no, So sue me, Sort Of, Tags to be added, Time Travel, although Ichigo will possibly sleep with someone else first, because i have a massive soft spot for him, but it seemed like a good idea, end goal grimmichi, ichigo wonders why this is his life, just saying, self-indulgence at its greatest, seriously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-08-30 03:55:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16757206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKG/pseuds/LadyKG
Summary: The world disappeared in a flash of golden light, there and gone so suddenly Ichigo feared whatever Orihime did hadn’t worked. Months without his zanpakuto left him empty in a way he didn’t know was possible. When she had come to him with determined eyes and set shoulders Ichigo had felt hope for the first time since Aizen fell.The world disappeared in a flash of golden light, and Ichigo opened his eyes to his room, rays of diluted sunlight coming through his window. He opened his eyes with the thrum of reiatsu under his skin.





	1. Chapter 1

The world disappeared in a flash of golden light, bright enough to make his eyes burn. It forced them shut as the sensation covered his entire body. He opened his mouth to scream at the pain – more intense than anything he’d felt before – but the sound was lost in the silence that weighed thick inside the light.

The world disappeared in a flash of golden light, there and gone so suddenly Ichigo feared whatever Orihime did hadn’t _worked._ Months without his zanpakuto left him empty in a way he hadn’t known was possible. When she had come to him with determined eyes and set shoulders Ichigo had felt hope for the first time since Aizen fell. So long as his resolve was strong enough, she had said, it should work. So long as he was willing to push, and demand that the world bend before him. She could help, could open the way, she said, but he would have to do the rest.

The world disappeared in a flash of golden light, and Ichigo felt his stomach roll as it was replaced by darkness, a sick pressure making his skin feel entirely too tight.

He opened his eyes to his room – hadn’t they been at Urahara’s shop? – rays of diluted sunlight coming through his window. He opened his eyes with the thrum of reiatsu under his skin. His heart skipped a beat, and then another as the realization that it _worked_ was abruptly pushed aside because he couldn’t _breathe._

With reaching hands – too small, his mind supplied – he pulled the window by his bed open, hoping that the fresh air would start his lungs. It didn’t. His skin became tighter with each passing moment, like he had pulled on clothes two sizes too small. He tore at his shirt, ripping at the fabric in the hope that it would help. That the pressure would just disappear.

He really should be careful what he wished for.

With another flash, this time red and black, he was sent across the room. His back hit the wall with a resounding crack, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about the ache in his shoulders from the impact – the pressure was gone and that was all that mattered. The pressure was gone and his reiatsu curled around him as if to welcome him home.

There were footsteps coming down the hall, rushed with an urgency that Ichigo couldn’t care for as he was pulled into his inner world. For a moment he felt vertigo, his vision clearing slow to take in his surroundings. The sideways buildings that greeted him made him laugh high and wild with joy that crashed into him like a wave. They shined in unnatural light, bright in a way that shouldn’t be possible as an ocean lay somewhere beneath his feet. The air was charged, practically burning with the amount of reiatsu filling the space, it left his head dizzy. A high that he had never experienced before, even in battle. When he had first entered his inner world, the landscape felt hollow, void of all life. But now. Now, that he knew what it was like without it… Months. Months without his powers. Without the ability to protect his friends – to even _see_ some of them. Without his zanpakuto. Empty. Empty and lost and now he _wasn’t._ It felt too much like a dream.

A shift of fabric behind him had Ichigo turning with a grin on his face, excitement curling in his stomach. Months without his zanpakuto, months without the comfortable weight of a blade in his hands, but _now-_

Now, he was faced with a Zangetsu that he had to crane his neck back to see.

“Did you get taller?” He squinted up at the man, the words blurting from his mouth as he drank in the sight of his spirit. Imprinted the sight in his mind and swore he wouldn’t lose him again.

“Nah, you just shrunk, King.” The voice had him spinning around, a scowl already on his face as he met the eyes of his inner hollow. Yellow and black, with a crazed glint that made his stomach drop.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Ichigo growled, reaching for a sword that wasn’t there. Panic hit him for a moment; where was his sword? Why did he not have Zangetsu? Reiatsu swirled around him, caressed him, thick and _there_ so why wasn’t Zangetsu in his hand?

“There is much to discuss,” Ossan said, moving to stand beside Shiro. “Like what exactly Orihime did.”

Ichigo looked between the two, brows furrowed – they were _taller,_ too tall from what he remembered. Either that, or- He looked down at himself for the first time, taking in his too-small hands, and how close the floor seemed to be.

“I’m-.”

“Short.”

“-a kid.” Ichigo brought his hand up to his face, squinting at the offending appendage as if that would suddenly make it grow back to its normal size. Surely Orihime hadn’t de-aged him like a bad plot straight out of some cheap manga. “What the hell is going on?”

“Orihime’s powers are chaotic, and uncontrolled,” Ossan said, “it would seem that this was an unintended consequence of trying to give you your powers back.”

Ichigo laughed, running a hand through his hair, “So I’ve what? Turned back into a child?”

“In a way,” Ossan hummed.

It wasn’t that hard to put the pieces together, from the steady look Zangetsu was giving him to the way he had de-aged. It wasn’t a far leap, considering all he had been through. Considering how even Urahara did not fully understand what Orihime could do; only that her powers were on par with a god. A real one, the kind that even Shinigami could not match. It was why he had agreed, had felt like there was a chance to gain Zangetsu again. It worked, in a way, just not how he expected.

“Time travel.” It came out flat, a resigned acceptance chasing the words.

“It would seem you’ve been given a second chance.”

Ichigo frowned, “Is that even possible? Doesn’t that just… break the timeline?”

“Unlikely, since we weren’t erased upon arrival.”

Ichigo huffed a breath, eying Ossan with a skeptical gaze but not having any real proof that the spirit wasn’t right, “Second chance, huh.” He could stop Aizen, stop the war. Save his mom, if he was far enough back. He could fix everything.

Shiro’s smile widened, becoming almost unnatural, “That’s not even the best part, Kingy. Don’t ya want ta know why I’m back?”

“Ichigo,” Ossan said, drawing his gaze and attention before he could even respond. There was a weight to his words that wasn’t there before, “We did not bring you here only to discuss what your friend has done.”

“Then what-.”

“I am not Zangetsu.”

A beat of silence, confusion catching any response in his throat as he looked at the spirit with wide eyes. He opened his mouth and closed it, unable to find any words for a moment. It didn’t make sense. Of course Ossan was Zangetsu, he’d been Zangetsu this entire time; had been there when he found his powers, and been there when he fought his way into Soul Society, when he fought Aizen, and when he-. Ichigo swallowed, forcing his voice to work, “What are you talking about? Of course you’re-.”

“You must have noticed it.” The spirit met his gaze steadily, “Whenever I taught you, or when your life was in danger, it wasn’t my powers that helped you.”

“That was all me,” Shiro said on a laugh, high and manic with wild glee. Ichigo glanced at his hollow, his eyes just catching the glint of a blade in time to duck under a swing, and leap back a few feet, his stance at the ready. “With how much ass-saving I’ve done, I should be King.”

“Not a chance,” Ichigo bit back, his hands twitching for a sword that wasn’t there. Ossan stepped forward, stopping whatever attack Shiro was planning next. It focused Ichigo back on what they had been discussing, back on what Ossan had said. He met the spirit’s gaze, before he spoke, “I don’t understand,” his voice was strained, as it if wanted to come out on a shout, “if you’re not Zangetsu, then who are you?”

“I am your quincy powers,” Ossan said, calm but with a growing tension. “I tried to become the center of your powers, so I could suppress your growth and keep you away from the fights.”

“Why?” The word came out on a growl, anger replacing the confusion and hurt – it was easier that way, to let the heat of his irritation burn away the betrayal, the pain at being lied to.

“To protect you,” Ossan said, the words coming out simple as if they were supposed to be obvious. Simple like they shouldn’t be able to punch Ichigo in the gut, to force the anger out in a rushed breath. “I told you before, what I want to protect is not the same as what you want to protect. So, I tried to stop you from becoming a Shinigami.” The words burnt like the golden light from before, burnt and made something in him feel like it was snapping, “However, you eventually became a Shinigami anyway, and as I watched you train, suffer, and grow… I found myself helping you become stronger. Now, seeing you like this, I am happy to step back.”

Ichigo watched in horror as Ossan started to dissolve, to disappear before his very eyes. Months. Months without his powers. He wasn’t about to lose them again – any part of them.

“Wait!” He screamed, voice coming out cracked and high with youth as he reached out, desperation making him move faster. But not fast enough. What once was his zanpakuto spirit was now a sword he did not recognize.

“You have been fighting only with what strength I have not been able to suppress.” Ossan’s voice came from nowhere and everywhere at once, “That is your real zanpakuto. Take it and fight with your own strength, Ichigo.”

He did not even have the choice to accept this new reality before everything started to shift. Anger bubbled inside him hot and fast. Quincy or not, Ossan had saved him enough times that Ichigo did not care what the spirit said. The world around him began to crumble, but Ichigo did not care. Did not care as Shiro disappeared, did not care as his head pounded with each building that fell. He did not care, and he would be damned if Ossan thought that his words could stop Ichigo from keeping him.

“I don’t care! I don’t care who you are! I don’t care who either of you are! You, and him,” he cried out, knowing that they could both hear, as he grabbed the strange sword and pulled even as it dispersed into reishi, “I’m sure you’re both Zangetsu. And I won’t lose you again!” As he said the words any doubt that he may have had fell away, the assurance that what he had said was nothing less than right settling in his chest, familiar and heavy. His inner world became silent at the declaration. The destruction slowing. The buildings stabilized, and the headache started to recede. His breathe came in huffs, as his lungs tried to catch up with the exhaustion creeping over his body.

The world flashed again, only, this time there was no pain, no ache in his shoulders or burn in his eyes. Just a weighted calm, like relief, forming in time with the blades appearing in his hands. And the knowledge that Zangetsu was _there._

Both of them.

 

 

 

The real world came into focus slow, each of his senses becoming aware one at a time. There were others in the room with him, he could hear their voices, muffled as they were. Quiet, he realized as his fingers twitched around the grip he had on Zangetsu. He could feel them. Both of them. Ossan’s presence, steady and calm, in the smaller blade – a trench knife, really. Shiro’s in the larger of the two; an encompassing bloodlust, eager for a fight in a way that Ichigo hadn’t been able to feel since he lost them.

He took one more breath before he opened his eyes, letting the brightness of the room clear away as he found himself on his back; a ceiling he knew all too well meeting his gaze. The smell of old wood and warm tea bringing back far too many memories. So, they were at Urahara’s.

“Ichigo,” a voice he had not heard in years called his name. With his heart in his throat he turned his head, eyes wide as he took in the form of his mother. Took in her warm eyes, filled with a concern that made his chest clench. Took in her bright hair, pulled back in a messy bun. Took in _her,_ alive and whole and not a bastardized manifestation by some hollow. She was alive. “Ichigo, how are you feeling?”

Time travel. He really had been sent back. He had thought, once, that he would not be able to face her again without his Shinigami powers – without the ability to protect, as his name so implied. But now, with her so close, he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t have been satisfied powers or not.

“Mom?” The word came out rough, the feeling of tears pricking at the edges of his eyes making him blink. He couldn’t stop himself from throwing his arms around her even if he wanted to. The scent of vanilla shampoo and scratch of the sweater she wore against his cheek made his chest stutter out his next breath.

“Ichigo?” She asked, even as she returned the embrace, holding him tight. “What’s wrong?”

She was alive.

She was alive and Ichigo would damn well make sure she stayed that way.

“Nothing,” he said, muffled by her shoulder. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Not that this isn’t all very touching,” Urahara said, the sound of his fan shutting making Ichigo glance over to meet grey eyes.

“Oh, stuff it, hat-an-clogs,” Ichigo shot at the man before he could say anymore. There was no way in hell that he was going to let Urahara take this moment away from him. That he was going to let the man turn this into some kind of joke. Besides, the look of shock that briefly crossed the man’s face was more than worth it – Kami knew the bastard had gotten that same reaction from Ichigo more than once.

And if there was a part, tucked away in the back of his mind, that spat fire at the man for leaving him, _abandoning_ him after Ichigo’s use had run out. When his powers laid in pieces after he attacked Aizen. The part of his mind that said if Orihime hadn’t suggested anything, Urahara wouldn’t have bothered with him again. And if that part of him felt a satisfaction in lashing out, well, he kept it to himself. Because he knew, for all that Urahara had not sought him out after the war, it was for Ichigo’s own sake. Knew that the man wanted to help. Knew by the way Urahara’s eyes had lit up when he and Orihime had asked to use his bunker. Knew by the way Urahara hadn’t bothered with his fan as they told him about their plan. Knew by the way the man had agreed.

“Ichigo!” His mom exclaimed, indignation making her voice pitch high and loud, as she pushed him back to arms-length, “Apologize to Urahara-san this instant!”

Dutifully Ichigo apologized, but with how empty his voice came out he was sure it was received as insincere as he meant it.

“It’s quite alright,” Urahara said, his fan covering his face as he studied Ichigo. “As I was saying, we should focus on figuring out how this happened.” The man snapped his fan shut, “His reiatsu seems to have stabilized when the swords appeared, but that shouldn’t be possible.” Urahara looked to his father, “You said you found him in that uniform.”

His father nodded, “He was passed out against the wall.”

Ichigo narrowed his eyes as they talked as if he wasn’t even in the room, with a scowl he left them to it, walking back to his blades. He took hold of Shiro first, before realizing abruptly that he wasn’t nearly tall enough to place the sword on his back. With a grunt he picked up Ossan to swing the blade onto his back, before inspecting Shiro once more. A moment passed before he realized that the room had fallen silent.

“Son,” his father said, “do you know what those swords are?”

“They’re my zanpakuto.”

“Yes, they are, the question is _how_ you have them _._ ” Urahara said, the smile in his eyes humored as he watched Ichigo’s predicament, but sharp with calculation, “What’s the last thing you remember, Ichigo-kun?”

Ichigo opened his mouth, but closed it again; should he tell them? Time travel wasn’t exactly believable, he had to admit, even if it explained his reiatsu levels and appearance as a Shinigami. But what else could he say? That there was a big flash and suddenly he was as strong as a captain? That he can’t remember anything at all?

He licked his lips, squared his shoulders and met Urahara’s eyes with a flash of resolve. He was never good at lying, anyway.

“Orihime and I were using the bunker to try and regain my Shinigami powers, but when she tried to reject… reject _something,_ there was a flash of gold light and I was back in my room.” He spoke clearly, let his emotions play across his face like he always had, because honesty was best backed up with willing openness and Ichigo needed them to believe him. Needed his parents to understand that whatever else happened he was no longer the same child they knew. “Only, I couldn’t breathe and-.” With a start he realized he hadn’t seen his body since coming back, and that they hadn’t placed him back into it while he was in his inner world. “Where’s my body?”

His parents glanced at each other, even as Urahara’s gaze remained steadily on his face. “Ichigo,” he father started, “when you- your body, it’s-.”

“It’s no longer habitable,” hat-an-clogs supplied. “You soul was ejected from it because you have too much spiritual energy for it to contain.”

Ichigo stared, his eyes moving from face to face as the information settled in. “I… died.”

“Essentially, yes.”

“Oh.” He looked down at his hands, taking in the lack of callouses, the way his fingers curled and stretched. He died. He felt no different, really. Beyond the changes he always felt in his spirit form, there was no physical feeling of loss at not having a connection to his human body. And maybe that was worse. There were times, he had to admit, that it felt like he was dying. During the war, and after. But hearing it now. Knowing that he could not go back to his human life, now that his mother was alive, that his friends were safe. It was a slap in the face.

It seemed the universe really was full of irony.

Ichigo had pushed the world, demanded it give him what he had lost, and in turn it pushed back. Taken something even as it gave him more than he asked for – more than he knew he _could_ ask for.

“The question is how you have so much reiatsu,” Urahara said, drawing him from his thoughts.

“I told you.” Ichigo frowned, “Orihime and I-.”

“Were in the bunker, yes,” Urahara interrupted him, “but who is Orihime, Ichigo-kun?”

“And what did you mean by ‘regain’ your Shinigami powers?” His mother asked, her voice strained.

Ichigo shifted, glancing back at his swords where they still laid on the floor and finding his strength, “I know it sounds crazy, but I’m from the future.” The words simply spilled from him then. Coming fast as they all tripped over themselves to be said – his Mom’s death, seeing spirits, Rukia, Aizen, the war, _everything._ It came out in a rush that he wasn’t even sure made sense.

He wasn’t sure he cared.

His mom was alive, his sisters and friends safe.

He had Zangetsu again.

Ichigo had pushed the world, and it had given way beneath a golden light.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Umm, so I didn’t actually think about how long this fic would actually be… and now I’m kind of, maybe, anticipating it to be one of the longest – if not the longest – fics I’ve written so far… and just… shit. Welp. No turning back now! Also – the pairing I was really, kind of thinking about was GrimmIchi, but you all can convince me either way. (I’d even be down for Gen…). So if any of you guys have requests then please tell me in the comments!  
> Also… I have a Massive, capital M needed, soft spot for a lot of characters in Bleach, particularly Aizen, so I’m going to leave it up to you guys as to what happens to him (live? Die? Etc…).

It took two days.

Two days for Soul Society to decide that sending someone to check out the strange reiatsu that had suddenly appeared in town was actually a good idea. Two days for Aizen to show up at Urahara’s door step with another Shinigami that Ichigo didn’t recognize in tow. Two days for him to say goodbye to his parents, and sisters.

Two days for Ichigo to decide that getting close to his enemy was the best way to take him down.

(His parents didn’t like the idea. His mom practically glaring Urahara into submission when the blonde first brought up the fact Soul Society would come to investigate. It was only when Ichigo insisted, when he said he would visit as often as he could, and that he would be _fine,_ that his parents reluctantly agreed.)

Aizen didn’t even looked surprised to see him sitting in Urahara’s shop, the bastard. Although he _did_ lift an eyebrow at the Shinigami uniform and his zanpakuto. Ichigo simply stared back, forcing down his instinct to gut the man. He needed Aizen to show his true self before making a move – having the entirety of Soul Society after him wasn’t an experience he wanted to repeat, after all.

“So this is the anomaly,” Aizen said, a smile on his face that even _felt_ warm despite its deception.

“A child…” the nameless Shinigami murmured, a frown tugging on his lips as he looked Ichigo over.

Aizen ignored the comment, taking a few steps forward into the shop, “What’s your name?”

 _‘Like you don’t know,’_ Ichigo wanted to spit out. Instead he simply crossed his arms, a scowl on his face that looked anything but natural with his younger features, “Mom says it’s rude to not introduce yourself first when asking for someone’s name.”

There was a poorly covered up snort of laughter from behind Ichigo, but Aizen’s smile didn’t even twitch. It could have been for the benefit of keeping his façade in front of the other Shinigami, yet Ichigo got the feeling that wasn’t quiet it. “I am Aizen Sousoke, Captain of the Fifth Division of the Gotei Thirteen.” The man paused, taking in Ichigo’s flat stare, “I am a Shinigami.”

Ichigo tilted his head, “Hat-and-clogs said you would come.”

Aizen’s gaze shifted from Ichigo, leaving him feeling light, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. That calculating gaze settled on Urahara, and Ichigo couldn’t help but feel bad for him even as he showed no aversion to being under such a look.

“We didn’t want him scaring off, now, did we?” Urahara said, his face still hidden behind his fan. There was very little doubt in Ichigo that it wasn’t hiding a mocking smile. Ichigo schooled his features, forcing his eyes to go wide, as if he didn’t understand what exactly the ‘adults’ were talking about.

“Aizen-taicho?” The other Shinigami asked, his voice attempting to be quiet in the tense room as the silence after Urahara’s statement stretched.

It took way more effort than he thought it should to not roll his eyes. With a huff of breath, he rose to his feet, drawing the room’s attention as he reached down and swung Shiro’s blade so it rested on his shoulders, the sheer size forcing him to carry it by hand. Aizen took this in with a flat stare, and it made Ichigo feel a small amount of pleasure that he could put that look on the man’s face.

“You’re a duel wielder,” Aizen said, his voice flatter than his gaze. And Ichigo _swore_ that he heard a mutter, _‘of course you are.’_ But he couldn’t prove it as he didn’t even see Aizen’s mouth move. The moment passed, and Aizen easily regained himself, “Now, what do I call you?” The smile that accompanied the words _looked_ soft, and warm. Ichigo really could understand how the man had fooled everyone if his acting was this good.

“Ichigo.”

“Do you understand why I’m here, Ichigo?” Aizen took a few steps towards him, the other Shinigami hovering at the entrance.

Ichigo nodded, “I died.” The words weren’t as heavy on his tongue as they had been the first time. The loss was still there; the lingering sensation that left his chest tight as he thought of all that was given up – his family, his friends. The loss was still there, but the words came light and easy, as if they were a mere comment on the weather. “And you’re here to take me to Soul Society.”

Aizen almost seemed taken aback by how easily Ichigo announced it. Shouldn’t dying bother humans? But the pause was short lived, “Yes.” The man’s gaze flickers to Urahara, but the blonde revealed nothing. Ichigo had to hold in a snort at that. Being a child had its perks, if he was being honest. Because children had no concept of what was and wasn’t supposed to be possible – so playing dumb when he did or said something otherwise not expected would take him far. After all, he wasn’t the best actor so trying to hide his skills or convince anyone that he couldn’t follow along with what was happening around him wouldn’t work. “We should be going,” Aizen continued, eyes focusing back on him, “the other Captains are looking forward to meeting you.”

“Really?” Ichigo shifted Shiro as he spoke.

“You’ve created quite a stir,” Aizen told him, taking out his sword with a flourish he opened a seikamon in the center of Urahara’s shop. Ichigo wasn’t stupid, he knew that it was a power move – telling Hat-and-clogs that not only did Soul Society know where he was, but that they could enter his home at any time. As the door opened, Aizen turned back to him a hand held out in expectation.

Ichigo looked at the hand, then up at Aizen’s too-soft-too-nice smile, before he scowled, “I’m _nine,_ ” he said with a huff, “I don’t need to hold hands.”

“Of course,” Aizen told him easily enough, the hand still not retracting, “but we wouldn’t want you getting lost along the way.”

He knew Aizen was lying. Knew because he had been through enough seikamon – legitimate and not. But he couldn’t exactly _say_ that. And… And Ichigo knew that keeping Aizen close, making the man believe that Ichigo suspected nothing – trusted him, even – was important. Really, for all that he didn’t exactly _want_ to give up his pride, he knew that now was not the time to base his decisions on such a thing.

So, with a scowl that was only growing, he reached out with his free hand and forced the way his skin felt sick with the sensation into the back of his mind.

Keep your enemies close, he repeated to himself. Let it cement his decision as Aizen led him into through the doors. A part of him itched to look back. To take in Urahara’s shop once again, but that felt too much like a goodbye, and Ichigo had every intention of coming back.

He wouldn’t let something as simple as Aizen’s schemes stop him. Not again.

Ichigo shoved his thoughts to the side as the light of the seikamon encompassed them, the light blinding him for but a moment before Soul Society came into view. They were in the fifth division Ichigo realized with a start as he let his gaze wonder over their surroundings, noting absently that the Shinigami who accompanied them at flash-stepped away. He took in the old-fashioned homes and making note of those Shinigami he recognized and those he did not as they walked steadily towards the meeting hall.

It seemed they would be wasting no time in trying to figure out what to do with him, Ichigo thought with a mental snort. Although he had to say he wasn't sure what they would decide – he was _different,_ something new, and he knew from experience that Soul Society didn’t deal well with either of those - but it was a risk he was more than willing to take.

The hall doors slid open to the eyes off all the captains trained on him. The hall doors slid open to silence. The hall doors slid open with Ichigo’s hand still firmly clasped in Aizen’s and Ichigo realized with a start that the bastard was staking a claim as much as Ichigo was. But the thought was pushed aside so easily in the face of seeing his friends.

For the first time since entering Soul Society his steps hesitated, because there was a tight bundle in his chest that felt so much like frustrated anger it left him staggering. Because these people had dropped him, had _left him_ the second Aizen was in chains. And it _hurt._ Because they were his friends, or so he thought.

Perhaps, part of him whispered, they hadn’t. Perhaps, it was simply because he could not see them that he felt so alone for all those months.

“Ichigo,” Aizen said, the name sounding wrong coming from the man even though Ichigo knew he had heard it many times before. It was the false warmth in it, Ichigo reasoned, as he took a breath.

He didn’t bother responding, instead taking a step forward, leading to another, and another, and before he knew it they were in the center of the room. It was then that Aizen’s hand finally left his own and he took his place in the line of captains.

Ichigo took the opportunity to swing Shiro from his shoulder, the blade half resting on the floor. For all that he hated to admit it, the weight of carrying the blade made his arm and back ache – it seemed he would need to work on building muscles first and foremost, he noted morosely.

There were murmurs running through the room. Murmurs about how young he looked. About his blades. About his potential. He ignored them all, meeting the silent gaze of the first division captain without hesitation.

“Silence.” Yama-ji says, and the room fell quiet. The man’s eyes scrutinized him, an aged wisdom pressing into his soul that made Ichigo want to squirm. “I am Yamamoto Genryusai, Soutaichou. What is your name?”

“Ichigo.” He said, “Kurosaki Ichigo.”

“Kurosaki Ichigo, do you know why you are here?”

He blinked, “I died.” It was the third time he had said that, the second in the last hour and it felt just as strange as the first time.

Yamamoto remained silent for a second, seeming to analyze Ichigo’s response, “How old are you, my boy?”

“Nine,” Ichigo said, the murmurs resurfacing at that declaration, and even at Yama-ji’s command for quiet they remained for a few seconds too long.

As the halls fell once more into order, Yamamoto took his gaze off Ichigo, “Aizen-taichou.”

“Soutaichou,” Aizen replied amiably.

“Did he have these blades when you found him?”

“Yes,” Aizen said, “although it is unclear if he knows their significance.”

“They’re Zangetsu,” he spoke up, knowing all too well that they would ask. And knowing all too well that pretending he didn’t know wouldn’t work.

“He not only has powerful reiatsu, but he’s a duel wielder too,” Jushiro said, the words soft but loud in the hall, a slight frown on his lips.

 _“Where did he come from?”_ The unspoken question hung heavy in the air, sparking as no one had an answer and Ichigo felt no need to offer one.

“Soutaichou,” Korutsuchi stepped forward, a gleam in his gaze that made the hairs on the back of Ichigo’s neck stand on end, “I would request that he is given to the twelfth division, so that we may understand the source of his great powers.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Sui-Feng snapped at the scientist, “if anyone is taking him it’s the second-division. The brat clearly needs to be taught some control.”

“Why does he need to learn control?” Zaraki countered, a smile creeping onto to his face that promised a blood bath. “It’ll be more fun to fight him like this.”

Ichigo watched with equal parts fascination and annoyance as the captains fell into argument, each of them presenting their own reasoning as to why their division was the best option. His grip tightened on Shiro the longer it went on; did he not get a say? They were talking about him as if he were a tool, a weapon to be wielded simply for the prestige it would bring them. It made irritation itch under his skin. Did they even realize he was still in the room?

“He hasn’t even attended the academy yet.” Jushiro’s comment caught Ichigo’s attention, as well as everyone else’s in the room if the slowly building quiet was anything to go be, “It is useless to fight over him now.”

“He’s only nine, it will be some time before he enters the academy,” Kyoraku hummed, his posture laid back but eyes sharp even in the dim light of the hall.

“That doesn’t mean he can’t be trained,” Sui-Feng countered, gaze hard. “Do you not feel his reiatsu? He needs to learn to control it before it gets him or someone else hurt.”

“And you think the Onmitsukido is the best place for him?” Aizen asked, his face gentle even as it frowned. Ichigo had to give the man credit, if he hadn’t known he was a manipulative traitor the nice-guy act would’ve had him fooled too.

“That’s enough.” The Soutaichou tapped his cane against the floor once, the spike of his spiritual power making it clear that the order was to be followed immediately and without complaint. “Sui-Feng-taichou’s assessment is correct, the boy will need to be taught how to control his powers.” Ichigo could practically _feel_ Sui-Feng’s smugness at that announcement. “Which is why he will be under the fifth division’s care until he is grown enough to wield his blades.” The hall remained tense for a long moment after that, but Ichigo paid it no mind, too satisfied with this outcome to care what the other captains were thinking. “This meeting is dismissed.”

Most of the captains filed out, after that, even Yama-ji left without even giving him another glance. But Aizen stayed, as did Jushiro and Kyoraku, causing the tension in the room to rise, even if they all seemed to pretend it wasn’t there.

“When you feel like learning some katas for duel wielding, come see us, squirt.” Kyoraku said amiably, his hand reaching out and ruffling Ichigo’s hair before he could dodge the action.

“Don’t call me that,” he scowled, hands running through his hair to try and fix the mess that the man made of it.

“Whatever you say, Berry,” the man called over his shoulder as they turned to leave the hall before flash stepping away. Ichigo only just caught the amused smile that Jushiro sent his friend, and it made the annoyance in him fizzle into nothing. It was good to see them again, if he was being honest.

“Ichigo.” Aizen’s voice drew his attention, and it took a moment to realize that the man was once more expecting him to take his hand. It made something inside him shrivel up, because he knew he couldn’t refuse – not yet, at the very least.

The fifth division was big. Or, maybe, he thought with a deepening scowl, he was just small.

There were at least four different training grounds, and just as many dojo. All of them brimming with Shinigami from dawn until dusk – it made Ichigo wonder what use they had if all they did was train. The Shinigami that made of the division itself were all almost absentminded. On the surface it looked like they were working hard, and if one watched for an hour or so there wouldn’t be anything noticeable. But by the second hour that Ichigo had watched them practice or bustle around he realized with a start that they all had an almost absentminded air about them. Dazed, really.

The mess hall and the barracks sat right next to Aizen’s own office and home, which Ichigo discovered the man barely spent any time in even if the rest of the squad seemed to think he did. There was even a garden – beautifully tended to, with a koi pond and flowers that Ichigo hadn’t even known existed blooming along the paths.

So really, with how big the place was, it wasn’t his fault that he got lost trying to follow Aizen’s directions to the third training ground on his first day. He was nearly a half-hour late by the time he stumbled across the area, entirely by accident at that.

And Aizen, oddly enough, didn’t seem to mind.

Or, more accurately, Ichigo thought his scowl firmly in place, the man found it _amusing._

Ichigo let out a huff, sitting down in the grass at Aizen’s request as the man unsheathed his blade. The motion made Ichigo tense, because even with his zanpakuto he wasn’t sure this younger body could handle fighting Aizen and survive.

“We are going to work on teaching you to seal your swords,” Aizen told him, “when you do, it should be easier for you to carry.” He sat opposite Ichigo, his blade resting across his knees. “But first, I think it would be best for you to get an idea of how to compress your reiatsu, so I want you to try and feel how my energy rises during release and falls when I seal my blade.”

Ichigo glanced up from the sword to meet Aizen’s gaze with a nod. Sealing his zanpakuto had been something he’d never been able to accomplish in the future. Not that he had tried over hard to do so; he had figured that with how much energy he had, controlling it would be a waste of time when they were at war and learning to fight, becoming _stronger,_ was so much more pressing. So, now, Ichigo had to say he was curious if he even _could_ seal Zangetsu, seeing as so many people had commented that he was a constant-release type.

With that in mind Ichigo closed his eyes. He was never all that good at sensing spiritual energy, but with some concentration he could at least focus on the reiatsu of the person in front of him. When, after a few minutes, Aizen’s reiatsu remained stable Ichigo opened his eyes in curiosity, only to be met by a deceptively open and patient gaze.

“Can you sense my reiatsu, Ichigo?”

Oh. Ichigo held in a snort, nodding instead.

“Good,” Aizen gave him a smile, “now pay attention.”

It was nothing special, Ichigo thought. Feeling the man’s energy rise and rise, the pressure building around them – clearly controlled, clearly slower than what would normally happen during a battle. He had felt enough blades release to know this part, even if he never necessarily gave the feeling this much thought.

There was a burst, sudden and consuming, like a bubble popping but more violent, and the man’s reiatsu levels evened out once more. Stabilizing.

Only his blade barely changed, and Ichigo knew the second Aizen started talking about sealing zanpakuto that he would attempt to put him under an illusion.

Too bad for Aizen that Ichigo had fought him enough in the future to touch his blade.

(Urahara had expressed concern when Ichigo had first expressed his plan to get close to Aizen, warning him that his blade was an illusion type and that is was near impossible to not be stuck in it. Ichigo had only smiled at the man and told him not to worry.)

Ichigo watched in interest as a strange, almost transparent, pool of water formed around them, Aizen’s blade itself gaining a flow of water at the hilt. It was strange, because he knew it wasn’t really there, but as he reached out to run his hand through the strange pool beneath them he swore that it felt like water; or a ghost of water, anyway.

A part of him wanted to reveal the fact he could see straight through the hypnosis. Wanted to rub it in Aizen’s face that he wasn’t nearly as powerful as he thought he was, nor was his zanpakuto as perfect. But… but he couldn’t because this was a card that he knew he’d need to keep hidden if he wanted even a single chance at destroying all of the man’s plans while in his younger body. Knew that if he even hinted at being able to see past these illusions he was as good as dead. He couldn’t fight Aizen with his current body. No. He would wait until he gained some height and muscle first.

 “I want you to concentrate on how I control my reiatsu.” Aizen’s voice broke him from his thoughts.

This time Aizen said nothing as Ichigo closed his eyes, simply started pulling in his power like it was nothing at all to compress so much into such a tight space. The bubble reformed and pushed down the energy with a steady strength of will until, finally, the energy seemed to _click_ and balance once more.

Ichigo reopened his eyes, blinking once as he met Aizen’s gaze.

“Now, why don’t you try?”

With a nod he brought both his blades to rest across his knees, the weight of them a welcome sensation as he furrowed his brows in concentration. He could feel his own reiatsu, thick and sluggish in the atmosphere as he tried to find its edges – more than before he lost his powers, more than the winter war and that left him reeling for a moment because how could he possibly suppress all if _this_ when he hadn’t been able to deal with the amount he had before. He chewed on the inside of his lip as he tried to tug it in. But every time he pulled too hard, too fast, a section seemed to burst out, crumpling his concentration and he would need to start again.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, eyes closed and struggling to control his powers, but Aizen remained silent the entire time. With a huff of frustration, he opened his eyes and glared at the blades in his lap, scowl growing with each passing second that they stayed the same and with the realization that, even if he _felt_ what Aizen had done it didn’t mean he understood it.

Thickening his skin against his pride Ichigo glanced up at Aizen, “It’s not working.”

“It would seem not,” Aizen said with a soft hum. “How about we try some basic control exercises first?” At Ichigo’s nod he continued, “I want you to focus a small amount of reiatsu into different points on your body. Start with a hand and then once you can do that without concentration you can move on to your other hand, then your feet.”

Ichigo looked from Aizen to his right hand, brows furrowing as he concentrated a small portion of his reiatsu into his palm. It glowed, slightly, that same black and red that he had seen when he first arrived – it seemed even this changed when coming back. When he was sure that the reiatsu wouldn’t disperse if he looked away, he glanced up to Aizen. Surely this wasn’t it, right?

“I said a small amount,” Aizen told him, patient but clearly amused.

Ichigo frowned, “This _is_ a small amount.”

Aizen stared at him for a long moment, scanning his face for something, though Ichigo wasn’t sure _what._ “I see,” the man finally said, and it took every ounce of self-control Ichigo had to not shout back that he _didn’t._

Instead he settled for a petulant, “See what?”

“Take a small amount of the reiatsu in your palm, about enough to fill an acorn,” Aizen said. “That is how much you should concentrate into each part of you for now. Once you can do that without thinking you can start making it smaller.”

It took more concentration and time than Ichigo would have wanted, but he managed to cut the amount down to an acorn, as unsteady as it was.

“There,” he said, looking up at Aizen as he said it. Except… except the second he looked away, the second he stopped fully focusing on keeping that small amount _small_ it greedily took more of his reiatsu, increasing its size back to what he had before. He looked back down at his hand, feeling an overwhelming sense of betrayal.

This was going to take forever, he could feel it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else realize I write More when I am supposed to be studying or doing literally Anything else?

Aizen, Ichigo had to begrudgingly admit, was actually a good teacher.

For all the Urahara’s methods had worked at the time, Ichigo could reason that having a more practical knowledge of what reiatsu was and how it worked seemed like something that was important. Before, when he had been invading Soul Society and then thrown into a war, he hadn’t had the time to sit down learn it. Hell, he barely even understood the mechanics of controlling his reiatsu, just that if he could push it one way or another and if he focused it through his sword he would be able to create a wave of it.

Now, however, Aizen had him reading through so many scrolls about reiatsu manipulation and kidos that Ichigo’s eyes hurt with the effort. Barely a week in and Ichigo didn’t even think high school had this much work and readings. No to mention the training session that lasted from morning to noon as if the man had all the time in the world to simply sit there and watch Ichigo try and wrangle his reiatsu into submission. Aizen even started to bring paperwork with him, when he realized the progress was going so slowly.

Ichigo eyed the man from where he sat a few feet away, trying to figure out why the man insisted on spending so much time training him. Sure, Aizen found him interesting, but did that really warrant hours a day of time spent with him?

“Concentrate,” Aizen’s voice broke him from his thoughts.

“I am.” He bit back, earning him a sideways glance.

“You are not.” Aizen snapped the book in his hands shut, “It is curious, though. You are struggling with this more than I thought you would.”

The comment made Ichigo bristle, his fists clenching as he glared daggers at the man. He had to bite back a string of words that a nine-year-old would most _definitely_ not know.

The man stared at him for a long moment, “Raise your spiritual pressure, Ichigo.”

Ichigo frowned, trying to find his angle but coming up with nothing. What could raising his spiritual pressure have to do with trying to suppress it?

“Sometime today, Ichigo.”

With a huff he complied, letting his pressure raise until he saw the man’s eyes widen slightly before holding the pressure steady – no use in letting the man realize exactly how much he had, after all. Aizen gained his composure as fast as ever, a calculating look on his face.

“You have no issue increasing it,” he said, “but you struggle to suppress it.”

“It’s completely different.” Ichigo huffed, letting the pressure disappear.

Aizen snorted, “Hardly.” At Ichigo’s blank look the man continued, “Raising and suppressing your reiatsu takes the same amount of control.”

Ichigo blinked, “But then why-.”

“Ichigo,” Aizen cut him off, “describe to be what you are doing when you raise your spiritual pressure.”

Ichigo shrugged, “I don’t know… I just sort of push it out.”

Aizen hummed, “And when you try to suppress it?”

“I pull at it.”

“How?”

Ichigo tilted his head, “What do you mean _how,_ I pull at the edges to make them smaller.”

“And when you push it out,” Aizen pressed, “do you push at the edges?”

“No, I-.” Oh. _Oh._ Ichigo stared at him for a moment before looking back down at the blades across his lap. He pushed from his core when he increased his reiatsu, so that meant he just had to _pull_ from his core too. Pull his powers in from the center rather than the edges.

He closed his eyes, focusing on his center and pulled at the rest of his spiritual energy from there.

It took a few tries, his reiatsu not wanting to comply, but eventually he got it. Pulling it in until he felt a click, like a puzzle piece falling into place, or a door closing. It wasn’t even all his reiatsu, some of it still leaking out around him insistently, but that was okay, because as he peaked one eye open he found his two blades had become one. And while it didn’t necessarily look like a normal blade – the metal black – it was at least short enough that he could carry it, even with his body.

“Very good,” Aizen said, walking towards him. “Now we can-.”

Whatever the man was about to say next was lost, because the door that had clicked so nicely in place before bursting open with a vengeance. Like a tsunami his spiritual pressure rose, black tinged with red, his blades separating into two. It made his breathe catch in his chest, a roar deafening his ears as he tried to gain control again, but every time he thought he had it, it slipped through his fingers again.

What was more was the force of the explosion sent him flying, his swords gripped in his hands automatically. His vision swam as he flew through the air, black spots making him blink to try and clear them away. He hit something solid, solid and warm and decidedly not the ground, but Ichigo didn’t have time to contemplate that as he was pulled into his inner world.

The landscape of sideways buildings came into view, only to be quickly blocked by Shiro’s face hovering above Ichigo’s prone form. The scowl on his hollows face was impressive, and the anger in his eyes boiling as he stared at Ichigo.

“What the hell, King?” His hollow demanded when he noticed his wielder had gained consciousness, “I thought ya said ya wouldn’t put me in the box again?”

Ichigo blinked, long and slow as he pushed himself to his feet. “What are your talking about?”

“You accepted us, yeah? So why did you shut us out?” His hollow snapped, crossing his arms in front of him in equal parts defensive and irritation.

“I didn’t-.” He started but stopped, mind whirling as he tried to piece everything together. “All I did was try and seal my zanpakuto.” He looked to Ossan for support, but the spirit said nothing.

“Don’t do it again.” Shiro demanded, clearly expecting Ichigo to just _listen._

“I can’t leave you unsealed all the time,” he huffed, meeting Shiro’s gaze with a glare.

“Why not?”

“Because carrying you around is impossible!”

“Who would’a thought kingy was this weak,” Shiro sneered.

Ichigo opened his mouth to retort, but Ossan interrupted, finally breaking his own silence, “Perhaps, we can come to a compromise.”

“Like what?” Ichigo tilted his head in interest even as Shiro scoffed at the idea.

“You may seal us,” Ossan started, “until you are tall enough to carry both our blades without issue.”

“Alright,” Ichigo said easily enough. Having them unsealed when he got older was nothing he wasn’t used to, after all. “So, in what, six years or so?”

“In six years,” Ossan confirmed with a nod, before turning his gaze to Shiro in expectation.

The hollow scowled at them both for a long moment, and Ichigo thought that perhaps he would refuse and throw another fit about the entire situation, but surprisingly enough Shiro uncrossed his arms and said, “Fine. But I want to be unsealed when ya’re not movin’ much, ‘kay?”

“Okay,” Ichigo said; the request was reasonable enough, even if it would probably give much of Soul Society a heart attack every time Ichigo started to study whatever Aizen had him reading that day.

 

 

 

He expected to see a blue sky with clouds when he pulled himself from his inner world. Instead, he found himself in his room, the one Aizen had supplied when Ichigo first arrived. He stared at the ceiling and the ceiling stared back as he tried to piece together how he got there. Because surely Aizen wouldn’t have carried him back, persona or no. Ichigo put his money on the man ordering one of the unseated Shinigami to do it. Except… they had been the only two in the training grounds.

The door to his room slid open, breaking him from his spiraling thoughts and staring contest with an inanimate object. “Oh, you’re awake,” Hinamori said, voice cheerful but soft as she smiled at him. “I’ll go tell the Captains.”

“Captains?” He asked because he could think better of it. Did she intend to make that plural?

“Well, your reiatsu spike worried some of them so they came to check on you.” Hinamori explained, “Aizen-taichou said you’d be fine, but they insisted on staying until you woke up. They’re having tea in his office.” Hinamori’s voice dropped to a whisper, as if sharing a secret, “If you ask me, they’re just trying to avoid paperwork.”

“Oh.” He said, rather eloquently at that.

Hinamori’s smile only grew, “They’re all very worried, especially Aizen-taichou.”

Ichigo had to hold in a snort at that, instead letting out a muttered, “I’m sure he is.” Worried about getting his little pet project taken away that is. With that thought he pushed himself to his feet, reaching out for his two blades and making his way towards the door.

“Wait,” Hinamori said, “you should be resting!”

He waved her off, “I’m fine, really. I might as well let them know in person.”

“Aizen-taichou won’t like this,” Hinamori told him, trailing behind him as he headed to the man’s office. The words made his lips twitch; all the more reason to do it, then.

When it became obvious Ichigo wasn’t going to listen to her, Hinamori let out a huff, “Well, don’t come crying to me when Aizen-taichou lectures you and makes your clean the barracks.” And with that she turned in the opposite direction, no doubt to do whatever else Aizen had tasked her with.

The rest of the walk to the office was rather quiet, only a few other Shinigami passing him by with small greetings or nods of their heads. It wasn’t exactly a long walk – Ichigo’s room not far from Aizen’s. There was no doubt that this was done on purpose, but Ichigo didn’t really care, the man wouldn’t be able to put enough of the pieces together to figure everything out just because he sleeps two minutes away instead of three.

With a scowl he slid the door to the office open, not even bothering to knock – he doubted the captains didn’t know who was outside the door.

“Ah, Ichigo,” Aizen greeted, as Ichigo slowly met the gaze of the other captains in the room. “It’s good to see you’re awake.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, shifting under the combined gaze of Juushiro, Kyoraku, and Kurotsuchi. He scanned the room for a second longer before deciding on the seat next to Aizen with a grudging resignation. Aizen seemed pleased with this move, perhaps not connecting the fact it was, also, the farthest from the idiot scientist who looked like he wanted to dissect him.

“You let out quite the spike in reiatsu,” Kyoraku said, a cup that was most definitely _not_ for tea in hand.

Ichigo frowned with a shrug, settling Shiro and Ossan next to him, “Shiro didn’t like being sealed.”

The occupants of the table stared at him for a moment, Aizen regaining himself the fastest, “Shiro?”

“My zanpakuto spirit.”

“I thought your zanpakuto was named Zangetsu,” Aizen pointed out, his face and tone mild but Ichigo could practically feel the way his eyes sharpened.

“They are,” he huffed, rolling his eyes.

“And the other spirit?” Juushiro smiled, amused warmth in the curve of his lips. “What do you call them?”

“Ossan,” he told them. He saw no real reason to keep this a secret, Soul Society had two captains with duel wielding blades. Ichigo didn’t doubt that the fact they had two spirits wasn’t commonly known, but not exactly a secret either.

“And why’s that, Berry?” Kyoraku asked, his eyes shining with humor that Ichigo had a suspicion was aimed at him and not the situation.

“Because he’s the older one,” Ichigo said, even as his eye twitched at the nickname.

Aizen looked between the three of them with barely hidden interest – although Ichigo suspected it wasn’t there at all in the eyes of Juushiro and Kyoraku, seeing as they were under Aizen’s hypnosis. “Do all duel wielders have two spirits?”

“Most,” Juushiro said easily.

“Even more reason to let me experiment on him!” Kurotsuchi exclaimed, eyeing Ichigo hungrily.

“Not a chance!” Ichigo snapped back, scowl deepening as he glared at the crazy captain.

“Are you going to let him talk to me like that?” The scientist looked at Aizen as he asked.

Aizen gave him a bland smile, “He is right, Kurotsuchi-taichou, you will not be experimenting on him.” Ichigo felt the childish urge to stick his tongue out at the captain, but refrained, simply sending him a smirk instead. “However,” Aizen continued, his gaze shifting to him, “Ichigo, that is no way to speak to a captain, you will apologize immediately.”

“What?”

“Apologize,” Aizen repeated, voice expectant.

“But he’s the one who wants to cut me open and keeps staring at me like a pervert!” Ichigo shot back, arms crossed as he met Aizen’s gaze.

“He’s also a captain,” Aizen told him, patient mask firmly in place.

“So what?” Ichigo raised an eyebrow.

There was a large satisfaction in watching Aizen try and find the words to dispute that, “It seems I’ll need to add a book on proper etiquette to your readings. Now, apologize before Kurotsuchi-taichou requests a harsher punishment.”

Ichigo’s gaze flickered to the scientist, the bastard’s looking more than excited at the prospect. “Fine.” He finally grit out, “Sorry you’re a crazy pervert.”

Juushiro and Kyoraku snickered as Aizen let out a sigh. Kurotsuchi stared at him for a moment for seemingly working himself up to retort, but a knock on the door stopped him.

“Enter,” Aizen called out.

The door slid open to reveal a blank faced Nemu, whose gaze locked immediately onto Kurotsuchi, “Captain, you need to finish yesterday’s paperwork by the end of today.”

“Nemu, you useless piece of parts, you’re interrupting my work in getting that little brat.”

“You’re really not,” Ichigo snorted, the words quiet but from the way Nemu glanced at him she had heard.

“You also need to review the results on experiment three-four-eight-b-nine.” Nemu continued as if neither had interrupted her. Kurotsuchi rose from his seat, not even bothering to give a proper goodbye as he swept out of the room after his lieutenant, rambling on about how useless everyone in his division must be to not do it themselves.

“Ah, it looks like that’s our cue,” Kyoraku said, placing his cup onto the table, “thank you for the sake and tea, Aizen-taichou.”

“The pleasure was all mine,” Aizen said as the two captains took their leave as well.

“It was good to see you, Ichigo,” Juushiro called over his shoulder as they left the room, door sliding shut behind them.

Aizen remained silent for a long moment, before glancing down at him, a frown on his face, “Ichigo, do not disobey me in front of others again, do you understand?” The spiritual pressure in the room spiked slightly, but not nearly enough to even make him blink.

Ichigo opened his mouth to tell Aizen off, because when has he ever so easily obeyed anyone, but Ossan poked him in the back of his mind, as if chiding him for the thought. So with an annoyed curl of his lips, Ichigo gave a nod, “Yeah, okay.”

“Good.” The pressure in the room disappeared as Aizen rose to his feet, moving towards a shelf of books, “You said your zanpakuto didn’t enjoy being sealed?”

It took him a moment to catch up with the sudden shift in topics, but when he did he simply nodded, “I talked with him, and we sorted it out. He’s okay with being sealed so long as I unseal him when I’m not moving around a lot.”

Aizen glanced over at him, “Ichigo you can’t just unseal your zanpakuto like that.”

“Why not?”

“Unsealing your zanpakuto is not something to take lightly,” Aizen sighed, pulling out a book from the shelf, “the spike in reiatsu alone will draw other captains’ attentions, and may cause them to worry that you’re not safe.”

“But Zangetsu doesn’t like to be sealed.” He frowned, besides, he already made the deal with Shiro. The book Aizen had taken from the shelf was placed in front of him. ‘Proper Etiquette of the Gotei Thirteen: Volume One’ was printed neatly on the front. Ichigo stared at the book for a moment, then up at Aizen.

“You will finish that before you return to your room,” Aizen told him, moving towards a desk that was pushed into one corner. Ichigo felt his eyebrow twitch. Screw his younger body and its inability to wield Shiro properly. When he grew a bit, he was definitely going to beat Aizen’s ass into the ground for this shit.

He finished half of it before falling asleep, not even bothering to try and keep his eyes open and on the expanse of tiny words printed across the page. Who even came up with half of these rules? Like only wearing the lieutenant band on the upper left arm, or having to sit up perfectly straight when eating, or any unseated Shinigami not being allowed to make modifications to their uniforms. He’s pretty sure he read one about the proper was to prepare tea for a Captain too.

It was a waste of time, really. He’d rather be in high school math than reading this if he was being honest. At least then he would be able to catch the eyes of his friends and know he wasn’t alone in suffering.

He wasn’t sure how long he slept for, but he woke to the smell of food and tea. Blinking back the sleep still in his eyes he peeled his face off the pages of the book his head had fallen onto. A glance towards Aizen told him that the man also had a few dishes of food.

“Eat, Ichigo,” Aizen told him, not even looking up from the paperwork he was reading. With limbs still waking up he reached for the chopsticks. “Tomorrow, you will start working on kido,” Aizen said, finally looking up. “Since you are an honorary member of this division, I will not tolerate anything other than proficiency.”

Ichigo simply nodded. His control was still pathetic at best, but if Aizen wanted him to try then there was nothing he could really do about it. With a resigned sigh he went back to reading – just because Aizen had let him sleep didn’t mean he wasn’t expected to finish the damned book, after all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, this is my first bleach fic actually in the bleach world… so like… I don’t know if my characterization is on point for all the characters or not, so if you guys think I’m missing their personalities or whatever please please let me know!

The night air nipped against his sweaty skin, breathing labored, and back pressed against the rough ground. He never really thought about what night looked like in Soul Society. The stars in the sky were brighter than any he’d seen in Karakura town, which made a large amount of sense. There was less light here to interrupt the view. There were countless tonight, all of them taunting him as their lights so easily cut through space.

He wondered absently if they were the same stars as those in the living world, or if they were the ghosts of those that had burned out.

“King,” Shiro poked him in the side from where he was materialized, “either get up and try again, or admit ya ain’t strong enough and let me take over.”

Ichigo held in a groan. He’d been trying to open a garganta for a few nights now. Shiro was not exactly the most patient teacher, nor the most descriptive, but he was all that he had to work with. It was hard to even begin to comprehend how much of a hollow’s powers he could utilize, but Shiro assured him that this was something he should be able to achieve. Had mocked him relentlessly when he didn’t manage it the first night.

But when he did… when he finally was able to open a passage, he would be able to visit his family. Not often, because he couldn’t have Aizen finding out. But once or twice a year. Enough that he could see his sisters grow up, and see how their lives would have been should his mother have lived the first time around.

The world may have pushed back against his demands, but Ichigo wasn’t about to sit back and take that. Just because he wasn’t able to grow up in the human world didn’t mean he wouldn’t find a way to see those he cared about there. Even if he old friends from high school wouldn’t know him, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t look after them. Wouldn’t try and make their lives better too.

After another moment he dragged himself to his feet, taking in a breath he tried again. Pulling on his connection between himself and Shiro he felt his inner balance shift. Reaching out a hand he pushed at the world around him, trying to rip it open. When nothing happened, he pushed more reiatsu, hoping that this time it would help. It didn’t.

“Ya can’t force it, King,” Shiro huffed, arms crossing, and the reiatsu dissipated with a quiet sigh.

“How do you know?” He raised a brow, but there was no heat in the words, only curiosity.

“Instinct.”

“Well, can your _instinct_ tell me what I’m doing wrong?”

 

 

 

Kido training goes about as well as Ichigo expected.

That was to say, exactly the opposite of what Aizen wanted. And that alone made having to clean up the training grounds from his rather destructive display of several kido spells more than worth it. Really, he shouldn’t take so much pleasure out of making the man slip from his patient, nice-guy façade, but he couldn’t help it. The small victories were all he had right then, after all.

“Have you even been practicing the exercises I taught you?” Aizen asked, as he watched Ichigo move the last of the burnt target dummies into the pile by the walkway.

“I have,” he huffed, dusting the front of his clothes off to try and get rid of the bits of ash that clung there.

“What was that?”

“I have,” he repeated, a little louder this time as he turned to reach for another target to set up – apparently, they weren’t leaving until he got at least _one_ spell right. Which, Ichigo had to say, was not exactly a tall order considering how fast he normally learned, but kido seemed to completely allude him.

“And you are picturing the outcome?”

“Yes.”

Aizen hummed, eyes sharp as he took Ichigo in. “Place the target quickly, I want to see what your reiatsu is doing when your cast the spell.”

Ichigo did as told, walking back towards the center of the field and preparing to try again, his usual scowl in place as he stared the target dummy down as if that alone would stop it from being destroyed under his spell. Really, he knew kido would be difficult for him with the level of control he had, but he hadn’t thought it would be _this_ difficult. A few days spent on only a handful of spells and he hadn’t been able to perform even _one_ of them correctly.

A hand fell onto his shoulder, and Ichigo had to refrain from flinching away – it wasn’t the first time Aizen had done it to try and get a more in-depth read on what his spiritual energy was doing, but it didn’t change the fact that Ichigo didn’t particularly like the idea of this man touching him.

With care he gathered the tiniest amount of reiatsu he could into the tip of two of his fingers, pointing the appendages at the intended target. He thought of Rukia, the first time they met, the feeling of the rope that bound him. Thought of doing the same to the target dummy. “Bakudo one, Sai,” he muttered, releasing the stored reiatsu, brows furrowing in concentration to keep it controlled. A stream of electric rope shot out, wrapping itself firmly around the dummy, and for a second Ichigo thought that he finally succeeded. But just like all the other times the rope seemed to spark, stutter and then explode out in a storm of reiatsu.

Ichigo watched in interest as the target dummy teetered, from the right to the left before finally deciding to stay upright.

“You are using too much reiatsu,” Aizen said, his hand falling off Ichigo’s shoulder. The man continuing before Ichigo can say anything, “The amount you gather before the kido is correct, but you add more when releasing. You must control your spiritual energy at all stages of performing kido.”

 “So I just have to cut off the rest of my reiatsu?” Like the small bursts of energy used during a flash-step, he thought, as he looked from his hand to Aizen.

“Essentially,” Aizen confirmed, stepping back once again with an expectant look on his face.

“I can do that.” He muttered the words more to himself than anything, facing the dummy once more with a determined look. It still took concentration to gather only a pinprick of his reiatsu into his fingers, more than what he would have liked after over a week of training, but he got it. He thought of Rukia again, of breaking the bindings, of Urahara’s shop when he was being restrained to regain his powers the first time. “Bakudo one, Sai.” He released his reiatsu, concentrating on keeping it to only a burst, shoving it from his fingers all at once instead of releasing it into a steady stream. It looked stranger, this way. Forming slightly in front of him rather than directly from his hand.

Still, it struck the already charred practice dummy head on.

Ichigo held his breath, watching as the rope sparked, wrapping itself firmly around the target. One second passed, and then another, and Ichigo felt his face split into a smile.

He did it.

“It worked!” _Finally._

“Congratulations, Ichigo,” Aizen said from behind him.

“Yea, congrats, Ichi-berry.” The new voice had him spinning, coming face to face with Ichimaru Gin.

“Don’t call me that,” he said automatically, not that it had exactly worked the last time he saw the jerk, “and what you are doing here?”

“I came ta talk with Aizen-taichou,” Gin said, reaching out to try and ruffle his hair, but Ichigo ducked around the hand, making sure to put a few extra steps between them. The man may betray Aizen in the end, but that didn’t mean Ichigo had to enjoy his presence.

“Why don’t we call it a day,” Aizen said, the question not a question at all. “You can go find Hinamori and see if she needs help with anything.”

Ichigo looked between the two, wanting nothing more than to stay so he could listen in on whatever conversation they were about to have. He had no doubt that it was to do with Aizen’s plans, but he had no excuse to stay, no excuse to _want_ to stay, let alone need to. So with an internal sigh he left the training ground, making his way towards Hinamori’s office – Ichigo wasn’t surprised at all to find out that Hinamori and Aizen had separate offices. The entire fifth division didn’t seem to think it was strange at all. Even those that had transferred from other divisions where captains and their lieutenants shared a room to make it easier to deal with paperwork.

Ichigo hesitated for only a moment before knocking, a fleeting thought of going off to practice opening a sekaimon or garganta some more being quickly pushed aside; Aizen would no doubt ask Hinamori if Ichigo came by. Besides, from what he had gathered in the past week or so, Hinamori was normally swamped with paperwork, the girl becoming responsible for much of what Aizen himself didn’t complete due to planning his eventual ascension to Soul King or training Ichigo. So if Ichigo could help take some of the burden off of her then he would.

“Enter!” Hinamori’s voice called from behind the door.

He slid the door open, stepping in and closing it behind him before speaking, “Uh, Aizen sent me to see if you needed help.”

“You shouldn’t refer to Aizen-taichou so informally,” she told him, almost automatically now with how many times she’d said it. “And you have perfect timing, I need to send these files to Hitsugaya-taichou in the tenth division.” She held out the stack of files to him, and Ichigo wasted no time taking them.

“Sure, I’ll come back when I’m done,” he told her, slipping back out of the room when she gave him a short but sweet thanks.

It was only after he’d been walking for a good ten minutes that he realized he had no idea where he was going. He had been in Soul Society just over a week and the first time around he hadn’t really bothered trying to figure out where all the divisions were located. But it couldn’t be that hard to figure it out, right? He knew where the fourth, fifth, and eleventh divisions where, so it shouldn’t be _that_ hard to find the tenth…

Nearly twenty minutes later he felt like he’d jinxed himself with those thoughts. He was pretty sure he was in the eleventh division, but that didn’t make sense because he swore he had flash-stepped right through the ninth not even a minute earlier. Had he missed a turn somewhere?

He looked at the buildings around him with a frown; why the hell was it this hard?

“Uh, are you lost?”

At first Ichigo thought he had heard wrong. That he was just imagining the voice that had asked that question, but as he turned his ears were proven right.

Rukia.

He almost sad her name, almost smiled at her with all the familiarity of friends who had gone through so much together – through an invasion, and a war, and Ichigo had missed her the most when he lost his powers. Had missed her snark and snapping and short temper that would match him blow for blow.

Instead he scowled down at the paperwork in his hands because he wasn’t sure he’d have the will to not hug her if he looked directly at her. “I’m trying to find the tenth division.”

“Oh, I can take you there, follow me,” Rukia said, pointing over her shoulder as she did so.

“Thanks…” He muttered, trying to ignore the way his heart clenched at her easy smile, and followed behind as she started back in the direction he had just come from.

“I’m Kuchiki Rukia,” she told him. _‘I know,’_ he thought, biting down on his tongue to stop himself from saying it, “And you’re Ichigo, right?”

“I… yeah?” He said, the words coming out as a question in his confusion. How did she know him?

“You’ve been the talk of the Shinigami Women’s Association since you arrived,” she told him. “Hinamori-fukutaichou was supposed to bring you to a meeting but she said Aizen-taichou has been keeping you busy.”

“He’s teaching me kido,” Ichigo snorted, “but I suck at reiatsu control.”

“Unohana-taichou knows a lot of control exercises,” Rukia told him, a spark in her eyes that said she was planning something Ichigo would definitely not like. “If you come to a meeting I’m sure she’d teach you.”

“Hard pass.” He shook his head, the image of Unohana’s too-sweet smile flashing through his mind. A flick on his forehead brought him back to reality. With a scowl he rubbed at the spot, glaring daggers at the culprit standing before him, her hands on her hips and a glare of her own meeting his. “What the hell was that for?”

“You shouldn’t turn down training with a _Captain_ so easily, most Shinigami would kill for the chance!” She told him, turning on her heel with a huff and continuing on her way in silence.

Ichigo followed, if only because there was nothing else he could do. Normally… normally he would have snapped back, fought and bantered with her – but this wasn’t _his_ Rukia. This Rukia wasn’t his best friend, and it left him unbalanced, not sure what he could and couldn’t say, not sure how he could and couldn’t react to her.

The tenth, as it turned out, wasn’t that far off from where he had been standing. He really had simply missed a turn. A turn that looked exactly the same as every other turn. Seriously, how did everyone else seem to know where to go?

They’d barely made it into the main area before being stopped.

He really wasn’t even surprised, if he was being honest.

“Rukia!” Matsumoto cried out, files in one hand as she waved, “Are you ready for tonight’s meeting?”

“Almost,” Rukia said, pointedly stepping aside so that Ichigo was more visible, the traitor.

“Oh, who’s this little guy?” Matsumoto smiled down at him, entirely too sweet in the face of Ichigo’s growing scowl.

“This is Ichigo,” Rukia said, as if he couldn’t answer that for himself.

“As in Aizen-taichou’s Ichigo?” Matsumoto’s eyes gleamed as what she said caught up with him, making him want to gag.

“I’m not Aizen’s anything,” he snapped instead, twitching with the need to cross his arms but unable to because of the files Hinamori gave him. What did she even mean by ‘Aizen’s’? Just because the bastard was training him didn’t mean shit.

“Oh, he’s just adorable,” Matsumoto said, eyes shining and hand reaching out deceptively innocent. He stepped back and to the side, making sure to narrow his eyes at the offending appendage as it retracted back to the, now pouting, woman. “What brings you to the tenth?” Before he could even answer the woman gasped, “Are you here to tell us you’ll be joining the SWA?”

Ichigo held in a shutter, pressing the files in his hands towards her, “No. Hinamori asked me to deliver these.”

“Oh.” Matsumoto seemed to deflate, “I’ll take these to Hitsugaya-taichou, then.” She turned to Rukia, walking backwards as she waved, “I bought some new sake to try tonight, so don’t be late!” And then she was gone, pushing her way through a group of unseated Shinigami and into a building.

With a sigh of relief he turned back the way they had come, Rukia following behind as he went down one road and then another only to realize he had took the wrong turn the first time. With a huff of frustration he traced his steps back the way they had come before taking the _right_ turn.

“You need help?” Rukia asked, a poorly covered laugh making Ichigo bristle in indignation.

“No, I can get back myself!” He snapped, crossing his arms and scowling up at her. _Up!_ Of all the things he thought about since coming back, being shorter than Rukia was decidedly _not_ one of them.

“Whatever you say, shrimp.”

“At least I’m short because I’m a kid, _you’re_ just a midget.”

He dodged the hand that made to grab him, ducking back and leaping into a flash-step that brought him up onto a roof and then onto another.

“Get back here!” Rukia’s shout followed after him, soon joined by Rukia herself.

Ichigo laughed, speeding up a little bit more as Rukia seemed to gain ground on him – damn his shorter legs, for all that he was sure he could still reach his blinding speeds it took far more effort and looked far less smooth now than it did in his older body. Besides, he didn’t actually want to _lose_ Rukia, where would the fun in that be?

With a smirk he dropped down into the streets once more, cutting around other Shinigami who looked on with equal parts amusement and confusion. He just barely dodged around one with a broom, looking over his shoulder with shouted apology even as he stepped into his next flash-step.

Not even half-way through the motion of turning his head back around he slammed into something. Said something didn’t even budge and for a brief moment he thought he’d run into a wall, but then there were arms steadying him as he staggered back, and the brush of fabric against his skin. With a blink he cleared his vision enough to catch sight of a captain’s haori.

 

 

 

Aizen was going to kill him.

Not literally. But with how boring the etiquette book had been Ichigo would rather the bastard try and put a sword through his chest. Even if he didn’t think his younger body could handle a fight with the captain right then, it would at least be better than what he’s sure Aizen would plan once he got back.

“Don’t you have paperwork or something?” Ichigo asked.

“Teaching the younger generation rules and awareness of their surroundings is more important,” Byakuya replied steadily.

Of course it was.

Ichigo let out a sigh, flopping backwards onto the floor. Aizen wasn’t even back yet, and they’d already waited a good hour. Byakuya insisting on waiting until Aizen returned to _‘deal with this situation personally’._ Hinamori had even brought them tea, three cups set out and waiting.

The door slid open sometime later. Ichigo wasn’t sure how long had passed, but he’d counted the books on Aizen’s _many_ shelves twice already.

“When I asked you to help Hinamori-fukutaichou I didn’t expect you’d cause trouble,” Aizen said, coming to sit down in the spot next to him, facing Byakuya. “I apologize for any trouble Ichigo caused, Kuchiki-taichou.”

“No need,” Byakuya told him, as Ichigo pulled himself into a sitting position, “Ichigo already apologized for the disturbance.”

Aizen blinked at that, his gaze falling on Ichigo for a moment before returning to his fellow captain, “Then is there something you need?”

“I will speak plainly, Aizen-taichou,” the man hummed. “I wish to train Ichigo in flash-step.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you wondering how I’m going to handle Ichigo aging: I’ll have is fully explained in the story later on, if you’re really concerned about it and want to know more now (for those of who haven’t already asked), then I’m more than willing to explain ^^

Ichigo hated his old body. For all that he could reach the same blinding speeds as before it was never for very long, his legs too short and body too easily tired to sustain it. It was _annoying._ And left him with a building sense of helpless anger. He had worked hard in the past – _future_ – to gain his powers, to protect everyone he could. And now that had been stripped away.

It was nowhere near as much of a loss as Zangetsu disappearing, but he felt it all the same.

Besides, it meant that Byakuya was showing him up in _flash-step_ of all things. They hadn’t had much time during the war to figure out which of them was faster, but he liked to think he could at least keep up with the high-strung Captain. As it was, with his shorter legs and inability to keep a steady speed for long, Ichigo was barely able to brush his haori, let alone steal the ribbon from his hair.

With a growl he threw himself into another series of steps, but he fell short _again._ Byakuya wasn’t even _trying,_ damn it.

“Too slow.” The man said, voice soft and cold and _infuriating._

If he could release his blades he wouldn’t be, Ichigo scowled. But Byakuya had shot that down the first time Ichigo pointed it out. Saying he needed to learn to work within the limitations of his sealed state before he could work on those of his shikai. Something about control and not always relying on his blades and releases.

With clenched fists he paused for a moment to catch his breath. Trying to ignore the way his legs were starting to shake. Stupid, _stupid_ nine-year-old body. Shiro’s cackling in the back of his head wasn’t exactly helping, either.

It was as he was wiping sweat from his brow that he realized he’d lost sight of Byakuya. And it was instinct that told him to flash forward.

Not even a moment later Byakuya stood where had had been, his feature as stoic as always but there was no biting remark, which Ichigo took as approval. Really, he forgot how cold the Kuchiki was before the whole Aizen reveal. It was definitely something he would need to work on, especially if Rukia was going to have even a semblance of a relationship with her brother.

“That is enough for now,” Byakuya said. “I believe it is time for lunch.”

With a groan he fell into the grass, letting the cool tickle ease some of the heat from his body. He would follow in a moment. When his muscles felt less like they would fall off. It wasn’t exactly a pleasant sensation, but it wasn’t a _bad_ one either. It felt nice, in a way, to push himself like this again. To be able to feel the burn of training, of striving to get better, to be better, to be _more._ It meant he was back. His powers were back. That he could protect his friends, even if they didn’t know they needed protecting yet. Even if they didn’t know they would be protected _at all._

Pushing himself to his feet he finally followed after Byakuya, who had paused expectantly at the opening to the Kuchiki’s estate.

Ichigo had to say he was surprised that Aizen agreed to this. Not just to the training, but to training away from the fifth division where he could at least keep on eye on them. He would have thought the man would be more reluctant to allow him out of his sight, but he’d agreed easily to Byakuya training him twice a week. A bit too easily, if he was being honest. But it wasn’t like he was about to complain. Being away from the fifth division felt far too freeing for that.

“What happens after lunch?” He asked as they settled at a table, rice and several dishes already prepared for them to eat.

Byakuya looked at him briefly before picking up his chopsticks with a delicate sort of grace that Ichigo is pretty sure Kuchiki just _inherit._  “My sister has offered to give you a tour of Soul Society,” Byakuya said, the statement worded as if it were an offer instead of an order.

“Your sister?” He asked, trying to make the curiosity in his voice sound genuine, as if he really didn’t know that answer to the question.

“Yes, she was the one chasing you the other day,” Byakuya said with care.

“That midget?” He snorted, laughter tucking itself in his chest because the door behind Byakuya opened right then and there was no way Rukia hadn’t heard that. Especially judging by the look on her face.

“Who are you calling a midget, carrot-top?” She bit out, face scrunched up in offense.

“Rukia,” Byakuya’s voice came out calm, but there was a sharp order lining it that had Rukia snapping to attention.

“I apologize, Onii-sama.”

“Sama?” Ichigo frowned at the formality. Was their relationship really so bad that she couldn’t even simply call him brother?

“Onii-sama is the family head and a captain,” Rukia said, as if that explained anything.

“And?” Ichigo huffed, arms crossing, “He’s your _brother._ There shouldn’t be a need for that crap.”

“Language,” Byakuya said at the same time as Rukia snapped his name.

“I’m just saying.” He scowled, “I have two younger sisters and I’d never make them do that.”

There was a pause after his declaration. The room falling into a silence that made the hairs on the back of his neck raise. He looked from Rukia to Byakuya and back, “What?”

“Ichigo,” Rukia said, voice strangely slow, “how do you know that?”

He tilted his head in confusion, brows furrowing, “Why wouldn’t I?” The words were out of his mouth before he could think better of it. Before his mind so helpfully supplied that most souls forgot their past live when they moved on.

“You remember your life.” It was a statement, not a question, but Ichigo nodded anyway. Too late to back out now, he concluded, letting out an internal sigh of resignation.

“Hitsugaya-taichou also remembers,” Rukia murmured. “Do you think it could explain his high reiatsu levels, Onii-sama?”

Byakuya hummed, taking a sip of his tea as he watched Ichigo with assessing eyes. “Take him. I will speak with the other captains.”

“You’re not coming?” Ichigo raised a brow, even though he wasn’t surprised in the slightest. There was a part of him that worried at the other implications of the Kuchiki’s statement – telling the captains of this. He knew it wasn’t exactly _bad,_ but Ichigo already stood out far too much as it was. To stand out anymore may not be the best idea.

“No. I have more important things to han-.”

“And Rukia doesn’t?” He snapped back, because it was one thing to ask your sister for a favor, but with how poorly their relationship seemed to be he didn’t think it was so much a request as an order.

Byakuya didn’t answer, simply rose to his feet and turned away from them both. It was then Ichigo realized with a jolt that Byakuya hadn’t even spared Rukia a glance the entire time. Anger burned hot and fast in him, stealing his resolve and deepening his scowl. “What kind of brother won’t even look at his sister?”

“Ichigo,” Rukia hissed out, moving behind her brother as he paused in his move to leave the room. She grabbed his arm and started dragging him, a tightness in her features that Ichigo didn’t like at all.

“But he can’t treat you like this!” He told her, eyes viciously digging into Byakuya’s back even as Rukia bowed and murmured out another apology. And then they were out of the room, and out of the compound before Ichigo even realized what was happening.

“He’s just pushing me to be better,” Rukia told him after a long moment of silence.

“He won’t even _look_ at you.” Ichigo shook his head, “An older brother should be protecting his siblings. And I’m going to make sure he knows it.”

“And how are you going to do that?” There was disbelief in her voice, but Ichigo knew her well enough to recognize the pained hope there too.

“I’ll kick his ass,” Ichigo growled, face set. It had worked last time, so it should work again.

“Rukia raised a brow, eyes shining in amusement as she glanced at him, “From all the way down there?” She held a hand out as if to measure his height, a poorly concealed smile twitching on her lips.

“At least I’ll _grow_.” He shot back, voice absent of any bite. At least Rukia was smiling again.

 

 

 

To be fair, Ichigo thought as Rukia started leading him around, Soul Society seemed to function on the idea that you would just _know_ where to go rather than any real directions or pattern. He could use Sekaimon Hill to orient himself for the most part, but he wasn’t sure how useful that would actually be in the long run.

“And this is the thirteenth,” Rukia told him with warmth. A pride in her stance that spoke of how much she cared for her division. “Come on, I’ll show you the main office, that way you’ll know in case you need to deliver paperwork.”

There was a lightness in her steps as they walked around. A lack of tension in her shoulders. And it hit Ichigo just how at _home_ she looked here. How relaxed and happy she was, especially when compared to standing in the presence of her brother. It made his stomach twist, while his resolve settled heavy on his shoulders. He would fix this. For Rukia and Byakuya, he would fix this.

Maybe he and Byakuya never truly got along, but he liked to think they were friend. Liked to think that they were close enough that the man would want him to do this. Because Ichigo knew that the two of them cared for each other. Knew by the way Byakuya reacted during Aizen’s reveal. Knew by the way they treated each other during the war.

Knew.

And knew that they wouldn’t be able to reach that point of more open affection without a bit of help.

Ichigo was deep enough in this train of thought that he didn’t even realize Rukia had stopped to knock on a door, nor did he pay much attention to the soft ‘enter’ that come from inside, or the way Rukia herded him into the room. It wasn’t until he came face to face with Juushiro and Kyoraku that he realized what was happening. He should have guessed, really.

“Ichigo, what a surprise,” Juushiro said, pleasant and warm, and even though Ichigo knew it was a lie he didn’t _care._ And that sort of power should definitely scare him more, but he knew Juushiro. Had fought with him, and saved Rukia with him, and knew that he would help him if Ichigo only asked. “Come, join us for some tea while you’re here.”

He held in a sigh – it seemed like he was getting a lot of orders veiled as requests today. Poorly veiled, but still. Shoving down the scowl that wanted to make its way across his face he shuffled into the seat next to the white-haired captain. Rukia, who had been hovering in the doorway, gave a short bow before leaving.

“How have you been, Ichigo?” Juushiro asked as he placed a teacup in front of him.

This time he didn’t bother shoving down the urge to frown, “Fine.” Which, if he was being honest, he _was._ Sure, he missed his sisters and friends. And of course, it would have been nice to spend more time with his mother now that she was alive, but he was working on that. Besides, Aizen was proving to not be as much of a pain to train under as he thought.

“The fifth is welcoming?” Kyoraku raised a brow, sipping at what was definitely _not_ tea.

He knew what this was. They needed to gauge how much of a hold Aizen had on him. How much of a threat Aizen was making him into. He had to hold in a snort at the thought. “I guess,” he lifted an shoulder in a half shrug, “I don’t really talk with anyone beside Aizen and Hinamori.”

“No honorifics, are your that close with them already?” Kyoraku’s eyes narrowed.

Ichigo crossed his arms with a huff, so what he didn’t use their titles? It’s not like he used anyone’s. “No. I just don’t like using them.”

“And why’s that?”

“I just don’t,” he said, not bothering to elaborate more, even if there _was_ more. Even if there was the overwhelming sense that these people should be treated equally to everyone else, that status matters little in the face of who you were as a person. Even if there was now the fact he _knew_ these people. Saw them as friends before captains. Even if there was all of that, he couldn’t exactly just _say_ it.

Juushiro and Kyoraku exchanged a look, and for a moment Ichigo thought that they could see all of that written across his face.

“Have you thought about our offer?” Kyoraku hummed out, the change in subject making Ichigo blink to try and catch up.

“Offer?”

“To teach you how to wield two blades” Kyoraku explained, voice flippant as if the offer was nothing at all.

“Oh,” Ichigo said, rather eloquently. He hadn’t, if he was being honest. Learning the actual stances for fighting had never been his style. Besides, it wasn’t like he _could,_ not when he couldn’t even lift Shiro properly. When he said as much about his blades the two simply chuckled. Or, well, _Kyoraku_ openly laughed, while Juushiro’s eyes simply shined in a way that said he was holding back.

“Don’t worry,” Juushiro told him, a hand resting in his hair even as Ichigo ducked to try and avoid it, “you’ll have plenty of time to learn when your older.”

 _‘Yeah,’_ Ichigo thought running his hands through his hair as Juushiro drew back, _‘six years to go.’_ It felt like a lifetime away.

“I hear you already caught Kuchiki-taichou’s attention.” Kyoraku tipped back the rest of his sake.

Ichigo nodded, watching the way the light reflected in the tea, “He’s training me in flash-step.”

“I can’t imagine Aizen is happy about that.”

“Shunsui,” Juushiro reprimanded, but from the way he glanced towards Ichigo, it said he was more worried about the comment getting back to Aizen than anything else. “Ichigo, don’t listen to him, I’m sure Aizen is very proud you’ve caught the attention of other captains.”

“Yeah, _proud._ ” He snorted, knowing full well not only how important it was to gain their trust, but also that he _wanted_ that trust. Wanted that easy friendship. He knew how manipulative they could both be. Would be hard pressed to forget them giving him a fake badge to monitor him. But they would also be his greatest allies in reaching his goal.

“Ichigo?” When he didn’t answer right away a hand touched his shoulder, “If you ever need to talk, we’re here.” Juushiro told him. It was reassuring in a way, but Ichigo didn’t know how deep Aizen’s reach went with his zanpakuto, didn’t know if the man would be able to get the truth out of them without either even knowing.

But… if Aizen _couldn’t,_ which reason said was a real possibility then he could tell them. Could gain allies and take Aizen down sooner.

He opened his mouth to say _something,_ to tell them. But the door slid open, and the words were lost as the two third seats of the thirteenth came barreling in, tea in hand and ever present arguing.

Later. He’d tell them later.


End file.
